Instincts
by Perfectly Maple
Summary: “Dammit, dog, if I’d known you were going to be this gentle, I would have allowed that teenage miscreant to have his way with me.” Brian/Stewie slash, for Poisonetta. Lemon.


**AN: I have never written a Family Guy fic before. In fact, I'm going to come clean right now: I almost never watch the show. HOWEVER, I had to write something for my bestest friend for his birthday. So Poisonetta, this fic's for you. I know it's not very graphic or as good as it could be, but I've had a horrible writer's block and couldn't come up with anything better. I really hope you like it. Warning: slash, pedophilia, bestiality, uh…yeah. Dog fucking a baby. What more could you ask for? It's not very graphic, though.**

"Dammit, dog, if I'd known you were going to be this gentle, I would have allowed that teenage miscreant to have his way with me."

Teenage miscreant. Most people had a more fearful response to almost being raped, to having the teenage babysitter with the face full of acne and the leering smile tear at your diaper and puncture untrimmed fingernails into soft, infantile skin.

But then, most people weren't Stewie Griffin. And while he had, understandably, cried at the time (the time, of course, only being an hour earlier), it hadn't taken long for him to return to his earlier cocky mannerisms.

Even now, with Brian hovering over him, half inside him, Stewie wasn't going to be submissive or shaky. He wasn't emotionally fragile, as physically fragile as he indeed was.

"Stewie, Lois is going to be here any minute—" In other words, they shouldn't go any further.

"Good! I hope she sees us. Hopefully she'll suffer cardiac arrest," The baby licked his lips at the thought, before groaning in pain as Brian thrust into him a bit more. "Ah—n-not so rough, Brian."

"Just a second ago, you were yelling at me for being too gentle."

"Yes, well, I didn't expect you to actually … a-ah," His eyes, normally large, nearly bulging, squeezed shut, a thin layer of moisture leaking from beneath his eyelids.

How had it gotten to this? Brian's paws trailed Stewie's sides, the dog panting as sweat matted his white fur. Lois and Peter had gone on a rare date (probably filled with disasters and unfunny cutaway scenes), Meg out with…well, not with friends, but that had been the pretense she'd offered. And Chris was out having his own subplot. Leaving Brian and Stewie.

An hour earlier, it had been Brian, Stewie, and the babysitter. Lecherous rapist babysitter at that. Brian hadn't realized how quickly his own animal instincts could resurface until he'd caught that pervert touching his Stewi—uh, touching Stewie. Not _his_ Stewie. Brian didn't have any emotional investment in the boy.

Then why was he fucking him?

Brian hadn't realized he'd continued thrusting until now, pausing once more, carefully noting each feature of the sexual bottom in their relationship. Not looking sexually, but curiously. He wasn't necessarily attractive, Brian decided. Not that Stewie was ugly, but then, babies are almost never hideous. He certainly wasn't adorable, at least not usually (maybe now, with his cheeks slightly flushed and his lips slightly parted, he was just a little bit cute, though Brian pushed those thoughts away quickly). Ugly? No. But beautiful?

What kind of sick bastard thought of a baby as beautiful? Not beautiful as in a work of art, but erotically. That was perverse and disgusting.

What kind of sick bastard fucked a baby?

Brian didn't know whether to chuckle at the ridiculous nature of this situation or to cry. He chose neither. He'd rather not think about his emotional investment at the moment. All he knew for certain was one moment he'd had his teeth sunk into the jugular veins of a male babysitter, the next instant he was rolling around on the ground with his tongue down Stewie's throat.

What had transpired to make this happen?

Stewie murmured lightly, chubby infant fingers infectiously hot as they tugged at Brian's fur, eager as they drew him closer. Their bodies meshed better than Brian had ever experienced with an adult woman, or with another dog (experiments from youth that he didn't intend on thinking too deeply on). Brian's own moans were deep and masculine in comparison, echoing too loudly through the child's bedroom.

This had been Stewie's plan. Brian was sure of it. How he'd gotten all the pieces to line up so perfectly, Brian didn't know. Nor did he really want to know. Once he figured out the puzzle, he'd start to see all the ways he could have prevented this, all the ways he was truly to blame. Because he was the adult. Dog, yes, but he was an adult. Probably the single most mature being in this household.

Yet here he was, fucking the baby of the house.

Brian didn't howl when he came. His animal instincts were mostly drowned out, except for that single attack. That single attack and perhaps this event. His ears flopped back as he lifted his head, bucking hips forward. It took him a few seconds before he felt guilty for coming inside Stewie, for not pulling out before he released, for overfilling a vessel so small.

It took him another few seconds before he felt guilty for fucking Stewie in the first place. Had this been fate from the very first day Lois had brought him home? What was the catalytic event which had lead to this moment?

Brian didn't know. He didn't really want to know. And as much as he hated himself now, he didn't regret it. That was the part that scared him.

He pulled out of the baby, sticky and pink skinned and quivering in post-coital bliss, hesitating as he considered his next course of actions.

"Uh…"

That one hesitant noise was enough for Stewie to open his eyes, to look Brian up and down.

"Don't you have to smoke your post-fuck cigarette or something, dog?"

The tone wasn't cruel, but it wasn't loving, either. What had Brian expected? Of course Stewie was going to be his same dismissive self.

Brian should have been his same sarcastic self as well.

"Uh, I guess…"

"Don't tell me you're feeling guilty about this," Stewie winced as he sat up. It was almost unperceivable, but it was there.

Just like Brian's guilt. Almost invisible, but still palpable, still nauseating.

"I don't expect you to cuddle me or anything, if that's what you're waiting around for," Stewie finally made it to his feet, before falling forward.

Into Brian's arms. Another clichéd move, perfectly executed.

"Right," Brian rolled his eyes, still holding onto Stewie. "That explains why you're doing everything possible to remain in physical contact right now."

"Well, I usually cuddle with Rupert after we…" He trailed off, raising an eyebrow just slightly, enough for his meaning to come across.

"Oh, so you do this with your teddy bear."

"Well, not all the way. Third base, that's all."

"Mhm," Brian knew it wasn't rational to tuck Stewie into his crib without dressing or cleaning him first. What would Lois think (Peter wouldn't notice, the dog was certain)? He also knew it wasn't rational to curl up in bed beside him, to nudge his arm until it draped over his head, almost like a perfect portrait of young boy and dog (almost like a normal family unit).

But then, what about tonight had been rational?

And really, Brian was tired of second guessing everything all the time.


End file.
